


Nuit Blanche

by stephanericher



Category: Kuroko no Basuke | Kuroko's Basketball
Genre: Established Relationship, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-03
Updated: 2016-06-03
Packaged: 2018-07-12 02:04:54
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,153
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7080205
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/stephanericher/pseuds/stephanericher
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>He has to say yes; he can’t say yes.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Nuit Blanche

There’s something at the tip of Taiga’s tongue, something he keeps catching and pulling back, slipping away from the forefront as he coughs or closes his mouth or talks about something a little less consequential. He’s so close to being ready, so close that one of these times the words will break the last threads and spill out, the persistent pressure too much for Taiga’s inhibitions—Tatsuya wants to coax it out himself, but he knows that’s the wrong way to go about it (and God knows Tatsuya’s made Taiga wait for too much already).

There’s something about this night that’s ripe for telling, ripe for saying and doing, as it drags on and the time falls away like petals on a flower in the heat, even though it’s too late in the night for the heat to come up in visible waves a foot above the pavement. It’s as if they have a window to say what they can, what they have to, but Tatsuya can’t quite place when it had opened and he’s not sure when it’s going to close (and only the breezy sort of half-urgency in the air reminds him that it will at some point), as if it’s been gliding this whole time on newly-oiled rollers.

Maybe it had creaked or cracked as it had unlatched and slid open, but Tatsuya had just lost the sound in the noise of the party, the rush of the celebration all around him, that even though it had been something he’d had no part in he couldn’t help but catch the wide smile on everyone else’s faces and send it back like a wave hitting a wall and reverberating. Specifically, it’s awfully hard not to smile when Taiga’s smiling the way he is, when he still hasn’t come down from the high of winning the goddamn NBA championship (and deserving the MVP, if anyone were to ask Tatsuya) three days ago, and having the parade that afternoon had done nothing to quell that. And afterward, when they’d all come back to Taiga’s place to party, he could have just poured champagne for his friends but he’d made sure to include Tatsuya, to grab his hand when he really shouldn’t only no one’s going to notice, to keep him close. Even though it’s Taiga and he does this (he’d done it at the all-star party, too) it’s still almost too much to hope for even though it keeps happening.

Tatsuya had been sitting, half-drunk, between Taiga’s legs while Taiga had sat on the couch, beer in hand. Then he’d given the bottle to Tatsuya to take off his shirt because of the heat, and it was so goddamn hot with the typical Los Angeles June weather and all of Taiga’s teammates and their guests—wives, siblings, friends—crammed into Taiga’s two-bedroom apartment, all the couches and chairs and beds and tables covered with people cramming in their asses to sit (and even in that position, Tatsuya sitting between Taiga’s legs wasn’t all that unusual).

“Tatsuya,” Taiga says.

Is this it? Tatsuya leans closer; the warped patio table wobbles. He squeezes Taiga’s hand.

“Yes?”

“Would it…would you…” he trails off.

He almost seems to bite back the words before they cross his teeth, breach his lips, but he’s already expressed the sentiment halfway. He looks at Tatsuya’s face; Tatsuya looks back—he doesn’t even want to turn away.

“Do you want to move in? Live here with me?”

Tatsuya blinks. He thinks, first, of a snappy retort—is Taiga asking because he wants help with the cleanup? Of course he isn’t. Of course this isn’t something Tatsuya can say, even in jest, right now. That it even crossed his mind makes him feel a little bit ugly, like he can’t say yes.

“You don’t have to decide right away,” says Taiga.

But he should. If he has to sit on it doesn’t that prove that he’s not ready? And is he ready? Can he say yes? He looks at Taiga again, still shirtless even though the night has cooled off and there aren’t nearly as many bodies crammed into such a small space. It’s just the two of them out on the patio together, under the distant city lights. Even though there are still people in the next room, passed out on the bed and the floor, it feels as if they’re alone in the apartment, the building, the city, as if the world has slowed on its axis into a sleepy lull. And Tatsuya’s made Taiga wait too long, as their relationship has inched along like a tugboat towing a barge with too much old weight on it, so much the barge’s balance on the water is precarious and threatens to sink it and drag the tugboat down with it. And yeah, Taiga’s still here; he’s stayed despite the glacial pace and despite Tatsuya being unable to give himself completely in the way Taiga wants and deserves.

He has to say yes; he can’t say yes. He wants to move in—he wants to wake up next to Taiga every day; he wants to come home to the smell of Taiga making something good for dinner; he wants to pick up groceries to make both of them something himself; he wants their mail delivered to the same address. Taiga gives him space when they argue; the space will shrink but he won’t stop doing that if they live together. He looks at Taiga again.

Taiga’s brow is creased; his lips are slightly parted. He’d said he could wait; he wasn’t lying. But that doesn’t mean he should, and it doesn’t mean Tatsuya doesn’t have an answer.

“Yes,” says Tatsuya. “Yes, I want to move in with you.”

Taiga’s mouth curls. “You want to move in.”

“I want to,” Tatsuya repeats.

The words come easy, smooth like a sip of beer midway through the bottle. He does want to; there’s no giant caveat. There’s no “but”; there’s no “someday”. There’s no waiting for the lease to be up on his current apartment; there’s no illusion of giving in, of giving himself before he’s ready.

“I’m glad,” says Taiga, squeezing his hand. “I’m so glad.”

Their lips are close enough to move together with little more than gravity, the only two people in the universe coming together at how-many-meters per second. When their lips part, they lean forehead-to-forehead; Taiga sweeps Tatsuya’s bangs away from his face and he’s the only one who will ever be allowed to do that. He knows.

The world is spinning fast again; the sky is turning pink around the edge, a bleach stain on the horizon. The sounds of the city below wind their way up into Tatsuya’s ears, metallic clangs and purring car motors and distorted yells. But the only sound that sticks with him is the slow roll of Taiga’s breathing, right in front of him.


End file.
